Mistress
by vanillalovescnjonghyun
Summary: Kenshin and Battousai are part of different love stories.
1. Mistress

"Mistress"

Part I.

"Behind every powerful man is an even more powerful woman."

This is the title of the series of prints that the young man from Edo made on his debut. The young man claims that he "dreamed" the idea of the prints. His prints involve two main characters, an exquisitely beautiful geiko and a severe-looking red haired samurai. The first print showed the samurai on his knees before the geiko, who held out her hand, exposing her wrist, the sign of the power of seduction of the geisha. The pocket sleeves of her white obebe (kimono) dangled from her extended hand, touching the wooden floor of the platform on which she stood.

The young man named this print – _Mistress._

Mistress. Since when did that word get malicious? In ancient Greece, the prince's wife is called mistress, the head of the household is called mistress. Mistress is the feminine of master, since when did it become malicious?

Ah, but people connote all sorts of malice to words according to what they observe, and perhaps, those who lived in the Tokugawa era and knew (or possibly even heard of) Battousai and his mistress Momo Zubashi would be the very quintessence of this malice-adhering act.

Momo Zubashi was a young promising geisha from Gion, the geisha district, and became his companion at a point that really shocked everyone, since Momo, though then unpopular, has just started earning a reputation for herself. One must note, though, that these speculations were made _after _the Tokugawa era, _after _the issue broke out and was silenced.

The printmaker "dreamed" of the series of prints at a time also after the Tokugawa era, after the issue broke out and was silenced. Thus, the people thought, Battousai and his mistress were immortalized, even only in print.

Their love story was immortal, too. They say Momo met Battousai in the most unexpected and grotesque way, in a manner most other love stories never begin with. Momo had run away from her okiya on a certain rainy day, and a bunch of evil pursuers ganged up on her.

Battousai happened to be battling his own pursuers as well, on a dark alleyway, where Momo chanced upon him. Battousai, known for his ruthlessness in battle, happens to kill both sets of pursuers. This incident, however, will be discussed in another of the young painter's print.

And so, let's get back to the word mistress. If there was some truth to the assumption that a mistress is always the husband-stealer, and not the wife or head of the matriarchal household, in our story, we will only know afterwards. Is Zubashi Momo indeed the mistress they all presume her to be, being the geisha that she is? Is Battousai, then, an infidel to his code of Bushido, of the way of the samurai?

The prints take us to a new dimension, in which Battousai and Momo's love story is immortalized.

The first print: Mistress.

"_Behind every powerful man is an even more powerful woman."_

_Beauty, they say, is powerful more than any man's sharp sword, since is not only captivates the hearts and souls of men, but also causes the possessor's destruction, if not handled very carefully. Beauty, they say, is the power of the geiko._

_Beauty chooses no one whom to captivate – the victims range from the most destitute of all the peasants to the most feared of the battling class. For a powerful man to bow down to the beauty of a geiko is considered to be conventional, as well as a very wondrous feat._

_But beauty may also be a weakness, for it causes star-crossed people to fall in love, helpless in changing their ill fate. _

_Momo Zubashi had always believed in the typical love story, where a man rescues a suffering woman from the ill of her life, and thus they will live happily together afterwards. But her life in a small farming village in Kyoto wasn't exactly as she dreamed it to be. At age six, they were impoverished, and she was sent to Gion as a servant in an okiya, where geisha live._

_A young Momo once asked her master, "Do geisha really earn a living by applying make-up?"_

_The head of the okiya, Sakurako-san, replied with a laugh, "It's more than the makeup, silly. It's the art. But since you're too young and silly to understand –" she laughed again._

"_One day, Momo-chan, you'll understand what it is like to be a true geisha. You'll learn the power of captivation, the power of seducing a man without even moving a finger, the power of sending them into bliss or despair with one batting of an eyelash. My, if you are good and the men like you, you'll be able to know how the most powerful men live! If it's true they use the same trousers as every other man… But that is, if you survive the tests!"_

_And with that Sakurako-san left the bemused Momo._

_One night, a geisha of the okiya came home, sweating, panting, soaked under the rain, and with a determined goal to leave._

_The geisha faced Sakurako-san with the severest look Momo had ever seen in her young life. _

"_I'm leaving, Mother (as they were obliged to call Sakurako, being the head of their okiya), with Yanagi-san, and I'm never going back to this place again," said the geisha._

_Mother's brows shot up in an instant and slapped her hard in the face. The geisha stepped back._

"_If that is what you wish, but don't come running back to me when you've realized how foolish you had been!"_

_The geisha ran at once into her room to retrieve all her belongings, which were nothing more than a few sets of clothing and nothing more. There exists a rule, "everything that belongs to the geisha, belongs to her okiya."_

_Momo stepped into the geisha's room to inquire why she was leaving all of a sudden._

_The geisha smiled softly, "One day, Momo, you'll learn that money isn't everything in this world. Beyond money, beyond the fame, beyond the accomplishments, there exists a greater good – love. This love awaits everyone, but will only come to those who are brave enough to pursue it."_

"_But, what about me? Are you going to leave me behind, too? I also want to discover love!" Momo cried._

"_One day, you're going to find the man who will show you what it is to love. For now, you must work hard, do everything Mother says, but when the time comes, you must not let go of the chance to be with the one you love."_

_When they heard Mother coming up into the room, the geisha made a run for it. Momo followed her up to the gates of the okiya, and watched her disappear hurriedly into the night._

_When Momo came back into the okiya, she found Mother in a foul mood inside the geisha's room, and when she turned to Momo, she said, "Don't be like that geisha who runs away, Momo, you are the only hope of the okiya now."_

I am the only hope of the okiya now. But what is that thing – love?


	2. Murderer

"Mistress"

Part II.

"Behind every powerful man…"

The second print – Murderer.

He was obstinate, he had always been. He was severe and head-strong, he fought driven by his flesh, not by his head. He had this "slasher instinct", and that earned him the title _Battousai, _master of the _Battou _technique.

He was young and free, and most people his age would probably go about making fuss about wealth and women, but he wasn't like those people. He was quite popular really, perhaps because of his red hair and impressive skills, but in the most notorious way. His enemies called him a dog of the empire, a stray dog who will kill for survival.

So when the news broke that the feared Battousai had married, the townspeople thought they could breathe easily again. For a time the master swordsman led a peaceful anonymous life, until the time he was ready to strike again. But that was beyond the question.

The second print portrays the red-haired samurai in a fierce battle, his sword positioned in the famous _Hiten Mitsurugi _style. The whole scene was grotesque, and the only figure that was vivid was that of the samurai's – the rest was mere bloodshed.

The young print-maker entitled this: Murderer.

Battousai wondered if he ever would be married after all. Well, he's still a young man like all others, who dream of a woman by his side. He had no standards, in particular, just that she must accept the way he lived his unpredictable life. Ah, she must be prepared to die young, too, since death, on his part, was inevitable.

But will he ever be married?

When Yukishiro Tomoe came into his life, he thought that question had already been answered – it was a definite yes. But when she died shortly after they started traveling together, he thought perhaps that time wasn't yet ripe.

He looked at his reflection in the clear waters of the river, as he was walking on his way to Kyoto. He had buried the remains of Tomoe somewhere in the mountains, where no one would disturb her newfound peace, but he told the misfortune of her death to no one. This was of no political or tactical objective, however, and he just wasn't ready to accept her loss.

He came to Kyoto, with an agitated mind, in the hopes of finding one of his allies and explaining everything that has happened to him. He came across the geisha district of Gion, where he was tempted by shrouds and shrouds of amazingly beautiful women, but none of whom reminded him of Tomoe. He watched a particular performance of what the people there called "Sword Dance", which was performed by a rather unattractive geisha, and he left even before the show was halfway finished.

He strolled the streets of Gion absent-mindedly, the purpose of finding his comrade escaping his mind as he eyed the artful district. He came across a certain okiya, where he found a pretty young woman dancing in the backyard. He figured that she was dancing the same "Sword Dance" as the one he had watched earlier, only she was doing it more gracefully, and that she had a more pleasant face. He watched a little longer until he suddenly grew tired of it, with the girl committing the same mistakes again and again. He walked on.

Unbeknownst to him, he was being watched, closely watched at that, and that his pursuers were drafting strategies in which to pull him into their traps and eventually dispose of him.

He walked on, distractedly moping over his ex-wife's sudden demise, unable to sense usefully the peril he was bound to find himself in.

What was this place, thought he. Why was it so beautiful yet so inexorably depressing? Everywhere there was art, everywhere there was beauty. Yet, where there was art there was gloom, and where there was beauty there was an immense feeling of turbulence and loneliness.

Is this where he will finally find a mistress to his name, Himura? Or will this be just like any other place he has been to – after a bloodshed, someway or another, he will leave?

"Hey, aren't you the one they call Battousai?" he heard a gruff voice call from behind him. Ah, he was too preoccupied with his thoughts, he didn't notice him coming.

"What's a punk like you doing here, eh? Looking for some prostitute you could run away with, huh?"

He realized that the man wasn't alone, for there came laughter after his little nasty remark. It had started to rain a little earlier, and he wasn't very pleased. He ran his fingers on the sheath of his sword.

"If you came here looking for some bad body-ache, then you've come to the wrong person," he said. "I'm not really in a very good mood today, so I might just kill you if you don't leave me in peace."

"Tut, tut," the gruff voice said. "Too bad…

We're really in a fight mood today!"

"Hmp!"


	3. Giveup

"Mistress"

Part III.

"… a woman."

The third print – Give-up.

How long had she been practicing this dance? About six hours straight, she thought. The rain's pouring really hard on her shoulders, but somehow, she felt a need to continue dancing, even to the point of soaking her ugly kimono all over.

The Dance of the Swordsman. Who invented this dance anyway? It was a very complicated dance, which required the use of a real sharp-edged blade, which the dancer ties to a sash and whips in the air gracefully, in time to some other rhythmic movements of the body and to the sober music of the shamisen.

To the ordinary spectators of dance, such young beauty must never touch the blade, for she might injure herself if she's not careful. To the more knowing patrons, the fine splendor must be lauded for such impressive dancing.

Momo thought, Which one do I really long for? Compassion, from those who barely know the art of the geiko, or admiration, from the long-time patrons?

Whichever way, she must master this dance perfectly. The rain poured harder, and she found it a little hard to move. The weight of her wet kimono hindered her from moving lightly, and the slippery ground made her fall down. She heard Mother come into the backyard.

Oh! Mother must never see her with practicing with this blade, or else she will send her out of the okiya! The Sword Dance was only for the best geisha, and she wasn't even half of that – she was merely a servant who attended geisha lessons during the mornings and spent the rest of her day scrubbing baths. Oh! Mother must never see her like this!

How many times had she seen the other geisha in the okiya practice this dance? Only too many times. Too many times that she was able to take down all the steps and practice them herself when no one was watching.

Mother must never see her practicing!

Momo frantically took the blade in her arms, injuring herself in the process, wrapped it in a cloth, and hid it behind her. Mother walked up to her with a broom in one hand and an angry scowl on her face.

"Momo!" she scolded. "What were you thinking? Out in the rain at a time like this!"

She hit Momo a few times before the latter could even utter a whimpering "Gomen nasai".

"What?! I can't hear you, you ungrateful brat!"

"I-I'm sorry, Mother!"

Mother hit her again, harder this time, until the blade wrapped in thin cloth fell with a thud on the ground. Momo's eyes widened in fright, and Mother's frown deepened.

"Stealing the blade from the okiya, eh? What, think you could get to perform the Sword Dance, too, huh? Why you ambitious rascal!"

Mother beat Momo harder and harder, until the young lady fell limp into the ground, tears running down her face from immense pain. Mother glared at her.

"I got myself into a hell lot of debts just to send you to your geisha lessons. You're in more debt that you can ever imagine. You can run away now, little ugly Momo, but you'll never become the accomplished geisha you want to become!"

She picked up the blade and walked back into the okiya.

Momo sobbed, her body in deep agony, and her mind whirling in agitation. Should she run away, like Mother said, or should she be patient, like the geisha said?

No. I've had enough of this suffering. I'm running away!

But… to where?

I don't care! Away!

The turmoil inside her head was very intense, and she didn't notice that her body was on its own getting up and had started walking, out beyond the gates of the okiya, out into the cold pelting rain that fell on the rooftops.

The third print: the geiko in soaked kimono and walking under the heavy rain – Give-up.


	4. Meeting

Part IV.

The fourth print – Meeting.

"Hey, sweetie, come here! Why are you running away from us?"

The drunken men laughed ludicrously, bottle of sake in hand and their mouths drooling with saliva which sickened Momo to the stomach.

How unfortunate. Here she was, running away from her okiya, her body beaten to a point she never thought was survivable, soaked to the bones under the rain, and now being pursued by a bunch of alcoholic gangsters. How was she to survive here?

Run, Momo. That's all you ever did, anyway.

Momo forced her feet to move, and even quicken her pace, but there seemed to her a bag of metals attached to them that she could move only a little faster than an old turtle does. The drunkards must've thought the image of her moving like that very amusing, and they didn't follow her until after a short while.

They laughed and chased and pulled the sleeves of her kimono, then let her run a little before chasing her again. They were enjoying themselves in their little game, but Momo's fists were clenched tightly now, and she was on the point of giving up and collapsing.

The fourth print depicts a scene in a dark alleyway, under an immensely heavy rain and bloodshed, there stood the samurai amidst the dead bodies of his pursuers and the geisha who had sunken down on her knees before the gangsters. The scene of the geisha and her pursuers seemed to have caught the red-haired samurai's attention, and he was drawing his sword from its scabbard on his waist.

The young man named this print: Meeting.

Momo fell to her knees on the cold damp ground, and soon, her limbs were her only means of support as she tried to crawl her way into safety. The gangsters found this more amusing than ever, and were advancing her in a disgustingly malicious manner, their throats thirsty for some lust and action. They laughed coarsely, and their loud voices echoed in the rain.

When Momo's arms could move no longer, and the drunkards were getting closer and closer, she prayed to Kami-sama above to at least let her die in a more "un-grotesque" way, like swallowing opium by accident perhaps, but at that moment, she knew it wasn't even possible. She clenched her fists once more and closed her eyes, felt a pair of hands touching at her sides, until –

"It's bad enough that I've encountered a bunch of foolish men who were after my head on this despicable rainy night."

"What the –"

The hands that had groped her sides a little while ago were suddenly gone, so Momo opened her eyes to see what was happening and where that heroic voice she had just heard came from.

Before light even dawned on her she felt big drops of sticky fluid splashing into her body, and when she had fully opened her eyes, she saw that the tattered white kimono she was wearing was now blood-red.

Yes, _blood_ red.

Momo opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out of her system. She was shaking all over, due to both physical cold and fright, as she focused her eyes unto the man who had just given her this bloodbath, as well as undoubtedly saving her from those maniacs.

The man was handsome, but the fierce look on his face scared her. He, too, was covered in blood, even his hair, though she wasn't so sure since they were the same red color.

The samurai (as he apparently was) faced her and looked her straight in the eye. Momo cringed, as he silently examined her with his eyes. Then, finally, he spoke.

"What's your name?"

She swallowed. "Momo Zubashi, sir."

His eyes fell onto the white kimono he had splashed with blood. "Would you like to be called Tomoe?"

What was he saying? Is my hero also a lunatic, like those who have chased after me? Momo thought. No, I don't think he is.

"T-That's a pretty name, sir, but, what for?"

He put his sword back to its scabbard and turned his heels to go. "If you've decided, come with me."

He stepped over the carnage he had just created, his fire colored hair swaying with the harsh wind. The rain had stopped, but a silent wind remained.

Momo gathered up all the energy she had left inside her body, and forced herself to stand up. He walked rather slowly and it took her only a while to catch up with him.

"So you're a geiko?" he asked quietly.

"Not quite, sir. I am only a maiko," she replied painfully. Every word that comes out of her mouth seemed like a stab through her stomach.

"You're hurt," he said, noticing her anguish, but his voice was still cold.

"I ran away from my okiya, sir, and I …"

Before Momo could even finish her statement, she fell to ground with a thud. All the energy must have been drained out of her, and she felt like another word from her mouth could mean death.

"Don't speak, Tomoe. And don't look at me like that. When I say the name Tomoe, from now on, I mean _you_."


	5. Love

Part V.

The fifth print – Love.

She couldn't quite remember how she got used to him addressing her Tomoe, or to him coming home to their little abode with blood adhering to both his clothes and odor. She would wash his clothes for him, and anoint his skin with perfume to rid it of the smell of blood. He would nod with thankful correspondence and would depart for his room for the night. No, they didn't sleep together – they where young, and weren't entitled to it.

Sometimes he would be very kind to Momo, these were the times he was in a very good mood, perhaps a day or so without him going to any battle of some sort. Other times he was plain cold, and didn't pass her even the slightest glance, and these were the times when he didn't have much sleep, because of nights and nights of seemingly endless battle.

Momo was thankful for the moments when he was kind and gentle with her, giving her a soft smile, perhaps even a small gift or two, like when he gave her a cheap hair ornament which she wore always, whenever they went to town.

One day, upon coming home from a visit to a friend, Battousai told Momo to dress up, for he was taking her to some place she would possibly like.

"P-Possibly like, Battousai-san?" said the surprised Momo, whose fingers were shaking as she took her companion's dirty kimono in her hands. "But, where, Battousai-san?"

Luckily for her, the young samurai was in a good mood, despite having gone into battle earlier, and merely smiled at her question while he changed into a new set of clothing.

"Hurry, Tomoe, or we might not get there in time."

"Yes, Battousai-san!"

Immediately, Momo went to her own room and groomed herself, that when she came out a little while later, the usually cold samurai was stunned by her beauty. She wore white, as she always did, in honor of the color of the robe she wore when they first met. She had her brown locks in a half-ponytail, held in place with the hair ornament he had himself given her. The color of her obi was bright purple.

"I assume you are ready," he muttered.

He untied the horse whose leash was then tied to the tree just outside their hut and motioned for her mount. He helped her up, being the man that he is, and mounted only when she was settled. He sat himself behind his stunning companion, pushed his sword behind him, and yanked on the reins of the horse before speeding away.

_Where on earth could Battousai-san be taking me? _Momo thought. _Someplace I would possibly like… _

_A dance performance, perhaps? No, that would not be proper… I will be disrespecting the path we have chosen together…_

_A comrade in battle? No, that's ridiculous… he won't do that…_

_Where could it be?_

Momo had been absorbed in her thoughts for quite a while, that she did not notice the horse stop. Battousai moved his shoulder to touch hers, as if telling her they were there. When this had finally occurred to Momo, Battousai dismounted the horse and helped his companion down.

He took a silk cloth from his pocket and said, "Close your eyes, Tomoe."

The lady obliged, and let the man wrap the cloth around her head to cover her eyes, so that when she opened her eyes again, she could see nothing.

"Don't be afraid, Tomoe. Take my hand."

She enveloped her hand in his tightly, and let him guide her as she dwelled for some time in the darkness. The wind blew suddenly, and the scent of fresh blooms tickled her nose. On her feet she could feel soft grass prickling on her socks as she treaded the path Battousai led her into, and as her other hand wavered about on her side, she felt leaf after leaf kissing her fingertips.

Then, Battousai stopped.

"We're here."

He took off the cloth on her eyes, his voice barely audible as the wind as he spoke, "Open your eyes."

She was blinded by the sudden rush of sunlight at first, but when her eyes were finally focused, she took in the sight of a vast field with bushes and bushes of soft yellow blossoms, the bushes reaching up to her waist. She held her breath.

"I always wondered if you like flowers. I haven't gotten the chance to ask you, since I was always busy and you were very shy. I haven't got the time to buy you a bundle, so I took you here instead. We'll stay here for a while, as long as you wish to."

She looked at him with tears in her eyes but she held them in, afraid to spoil this poignant perfect scene with her childish emotions. She gave him a deep bow, and thanked him, before running into the bloom field, her arms outstretched playfully, embracing the flowers as she went.

Battousai took solace under the shade of a tree outside the field, and leant his back against the thick trunk, watching in contemplation the beautiful sight before him. It was worth a thousand bloodshed, he thought, seeing this lovely creature dance with the flowers, her kimono swaying in time with the wind and her hand kissing the atmosphere with grace.

Why, he wondered, did this woman so unhesitatingly attach herself to a man like him, who was so feared and infamous in the country? Why, he asked himself, did she give herself wholeheartedly to him even after seeing him kill many men?

But the greatest mystery to him is this – why does she still want to be with him, despite the peril she knows she eventually gets herself into? Why him? Why Battousai the slasher?

Well, he wouldn't know.

He snapped back to attention when he noticed Momo looking directly at him with a soft smile he recognized was of love, and she held her arms up at him in pure tenderness.

Slowly he went up to his dancing companion and clasped her hands in his, drawing up an even wider smile and deeper blush from her face, before finally closing the distance in between them, with a slight force he pulled her close to him, her face buried in his arms.

The fifth print of the young man – the red-haired samurai and the geiko in a flower field, their arms around each other.

It was entitled: Love.


	6. Surrender

Part VI

"Behind…"

The sixth print: Surrender

At first glance, they didn't seem an unlikely or dubious couple, in fact, they seemed like any other couple in the country: man goes out for the day, the wife stays at home or goes to town to pick up some food. Though Kenshin's whereabouts for the day were uncertain, Momo's, or Tomoe's acts weren't at all suspicious. The townspeople loved her.

How they managed to get through their first month was in reality a puzzle; they've survived hunger through the food given to them by their neighbors, who indeed adored the lady for her beauty and refinement. But on the course of the second months, life was harsh on the villagers, more so for them, that Momo had to go to town and work secretly as an assistant to a neighbor's store.

Now, Momo felt guilty about having kept her working a secret to Kenshin, and it scared her for him to find out that what food lay on their table did not anymore come from their generous neighbors, but was the fruit of her own sweat and labor.

Her secret agenda worked this way: when Kenshin departed for the day on one of his "missions", she would creep out of the house shortly after all signs of her husband were gone. She would stay in town until early in the afternoon, using the excuse that her husband would be worried if she stayed too long away from their house. Whether the villagers believed or not this lame alibi was out of the question.

Now her worry would be, what if she returned to the house a little too late, and Kenshin got home before her? Perhaps he'll take it as an insult to his manhood? That the man should be the bread-winner of the family? He went out of his way to save and give her a life that was almost suitable for a princess: he handled her with such gentleness (though with also coldness) that he did not let her touch even the tip of a blade and kept her in such remote home to avoid enemies getting to her. _Ah, _kind Momo thought, _I've lived most of my life in the okiya as a slave! Surely, this is too much…_

And so one afternoon, the storeowner had to go away for some business in another town, and Momo was left in charge of the store. She was growing worried, because the sky was turning pink, it was getting a little late, and Kenshin might just be on his way home. She asked one of the crew of the store, and asked to be let out soon, with the same excuse of her husband worrying, to which the man obliged, and let her on her way.

Momo thought her problem was over, but, she would never know until she get there. Perhaps Kenshin arrived early? _Keep walking, keep walking._

She was a few walks from her house, and she was seeing its little silhouette, when she was confronted by a fashionably dressed woman, her regalia complete with expensive hair ornaments, but with a look in her eyes that cannot be captured in paint. Momo knew this woman.

"Hana-san!" she exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"

Hana-san was a geiko in an okiya near her own (or more appropriately, in the okiya she used to live in) and was very dear to her friend (the geiko who run away) and to her as well, and for Hana-san to come to her here was very heart-warming indeed, and brought her memories she didn't want to remember.

"Momo-chan! Sakurako-san is sick! You must come back to the okiya!" Hana blurted out.

Fear spilled over Momo's whole being. _Sick? Did she mean dying?_

"H-How did you find me here?"

"That is out of the question! You must come back to the okiya," said Hana. "Sakurako-san desires your presence."

Momo brought her hand to her lips. "But, I cannot… I found a new life here…" And by life the image of Kenshin swept across her mind, and she felt a shiver go down her spine. She must get back home.

"Ah," Hana said, shaking her head. "You have life waiting for you at the okiya! If Sakurako-san dies –"

"Oh, goodness, Hana-san! Don't say such things!"

"If she actually dies, you'll be solely in charge of the okiya, certainly all of its reaches, because there's no other tenant there Sakurako-san trusts more than you!"

Momo remembered Mother saying that _she, _Momo was the only hope of the okiya. But… Kenshin?

"No, I cannot, Hana-san…I'm sorry."

Hana stared at her. "Are you certain about this…"

"Yes, I am, please tell Mother that I wish her to get well soon."

Hana scoffed and turned to go. "That won't be necessary. You won't be seeing her anytime soon."

_How cruel of her to say that, _Momo thought, continuing her way to the house she shared with her husband, thinking she made a good decision, that she stood up for what she started – running away.

Running away, now, refusing to see her guardian… whatever the people back in Gion are thinking now! What an ungrateful _maiko, _they must have thought. Geiko lived on what others say, considering that their jobs depend on how people like or despise them, but Momo wasn't a geiko anymore… she was Tomoe now…

She had reached the entrance of their house, but she was reluctant to enter. It was dark now, and Kenshin must surely be inside. She felt a mix of fear and guilt, a bitter sense of nostalgia, an instinct to run away again from what she had considered a home for the past few months.

She slid open the door and found Kenshin sitting by the fire in his domestic attire, looking at her with such unreadable expression.

"You've been out for long."

"I'm sorry."

Kenshin walked over to her, and she was suspecting him to burst in anger any moment, but it didn't matter – tears were forming in her eyes, a lump had formed in her throat, she couldn't speak a word, nor can she see clearly because of her tears.

"Are you alright?"

"I-I'm… sorry."

She had dropped on her knees suddenly, surprising both herself (at the weakness of her body support) and Kenshin (at the sudden display of confusion in her eyes). He helped her up, and she wept, muttering soft _Sumi masen _over and over.

"It's alright. You don't need to weep," said he, holding her up by the shoulder, though she showed no sign of compliance to his efforts. "If it's about being home late, it's alright. Don't cry."

But Momo had continued to cry softly in his chest, her body too weak and heavy at the moment, to be able to stand up or even move.

The sixth print: both the geisha and the samurai were on the floor, at the entrance of their house, the former reclining and weeping at the latter's chest, her hands tightly clutching at his plain kimono, the look in her eyes with mixed fear, guilt and uncertain wanting to return to a past she had abandoned, and the look in his eyes with mixed pity, guilt, and uncertain wanting to release her from the new life they had begun.

The sixth print: Surrender.

"It's Mother, _Battousai_-san…" she said in a hoarse whisper that almost terrified him. "She's dying… and she wants me to come back…"


	7. Savagery

Part VII.

He was unsure whether he needed her as much that he didn't want to let her go, or whether he merely wanted to her that any action that would keep her from his eyes made him vicious. Either way, he wasn't just going to let her return to the place, which, according to her and to his own judgment, had spit her out. Or was he…?

It was selfish of him to detain her in her suffering, but she told him herself, she wasn't going anywhere, and he was just making sure she really didn't. The next day, he didn't go to "work" though his comrades had sent him multiple messages demanding his appearance. He sat by her bedside for almost an hour, watching her carefully as she slept, he dared not look away, for, for some stupid reason, in a second she might disappear. He was obsessed with his wife, if that's the right word, he doesn't really care.

But is he man enough to let her go?

No, it wasn't a question of manhood; was he _willing _to let her go?

Of course he wasn't! From the moment he laid eyes on her on that cold evening when the rain had soaked both his grief and emotion, he knew there was no way he would let go, especially now that he had gotten to know her, and now that they were emotionally attached to each other in this matrimony they have feigned. But, ah, however pretentious the marriage may be, she was still his wife, and he her husband…

At noon she finally woke up, and he prepared soup for her (though he doubted his cooking to be good). When he returned she was sitting upright on her futon, and she had dark circles 'round her eyes, an indication of stressful lack of sleep. She was still beautiful in his eyes, despite this, and he placed a hand on her shoulder, urging her to eat.

"You didn't leave, _Battousai-_sama," she said rather weakly.

"How could I leave when you are like this?"

He didn't mean his voice to sound so harsh, almost like a scolding, but the words came out even before he thought of the manner of saying them. Perhaps he was just too eager to have a conversation with her again. This was no doubt, since geiko are trained to hold conversation in the most alluring and pleasing way, that a day or two without it would make it sorely missed.

Momo bowed her head low, as if in recognition of his anger, but he said nothing more of it, and she ate on in silence, with tension hanging in between them.

There was a knock on the door of their house, and Kenshin went to get it, leaving the unsuspecting wife to dine in her room. He slid the door open, absent-mindedly, almost in vain, and he was startled to see members of the Shinsen-gumi outside his door.

In broad daylight! He thought. What savagery! He placed his hand on his sword defensively, in case the men suddenly attacked. He stood with feet wide apart, his trunk bent slightly, in a manner that occupied the whole doorway, as if telling his adversaries they have no permission to come in.

"Worry not, _Battousai,_" one of the Shinsen-gumi said. "We came not to war, but to warn you to take your place at the battle responsibly. We don't care whether you have a woman in there or not, just stick to the code of Bushido, and don't you run away from us!"

"Surely," he spat, "you didn't come here just to tell me that? Why are you here?"

But the men didn't answer back, they disappeared so suddenly from his sight, that he ran at once back into Momo's room to see if she was abducted, but, to his relief, but not surprise, she wasn't. It wasn't in the way of the samurai to harm the innocent. But why was he so worried?

Momo looked up at his curiously as he came barging into her room, and asked, "_Battousai-sama, _you're troubled?"

When he was sure his opponents had gone, he shook his head and replied that he wasn't. He sat back down beside her, touched her forehead almost impulsively, stood up again and went to the door.

"It seems to me you're okay. I'm leaving now."

A blush had silently crept on Momo's cheeks at the sudden contact with his hand, but she nodded nevertheless, and watched him depart with silence. She clasped her hands tightly in front of her, as if to pray, that her husband be spared to something abominable that she so intuitively felt inevitable.

Why are geiko so extensively trained in silent suffering? They had to be silent as they are ordered around as servants by their mistresses before they can start to train in dance and tea ceremony, they had to say nothing while their hairdresser pulls and tugs at their wax-coated hair, they couldn't speak even when they sit at a party with a dirty old man and pretend like it was nothing…

Momo wanted so much to ask Kenshin permission to see Mother, the mistress of her okiya. Mother was anything but nice to her, in fact she was even horrible to her, but somehow, some emotional attachment urged her to want to see her again in her sick bed. Out of nowhere the thought of Mother seeing her in her happiness with Kenshin seemed like the perfect retribution for all the terrible things she had done to her…

Momo stood up, but she was dizzy, in fact, her head was spinning so badly that she thought she might fall down at the next step. She felt a little nauseated, and she brought her cupped hand over her lips, as if the soup that Kenshin had given her found its way up from her stomach to her mouth. She rushed to bathroom, bumping into the walls in the process, and spat the substance that had accumulated in her mouth unto the bathroom floor. She was breathless after, and she made her way back to her room and lied down in the futon, pondering on the reason for her sudden illness. She thought down the possibilities – the stress of the previous afternoon, the hot temperature, the cramped up house, the smaller amount of food she had been eating lately –

Her "illness" continued for many days, and took its toll particularly in very early in the morning, and even Kenshin was noticing this sudden change in his wife that one afternoon he brought home with him a doctor and asked Momo to be checked. Momo was interrogated, asked about many things she had been doing the past few days, and she answered diligently, hoping that perhaps the answers she will give will provide the cure for her sickness. And then the doctor asked the dreaded question, an unexpected question that made Momo blush, the question that inquired what "she and Kenshin" had been doing lately. Momo answered politely, and the doctor smiled, saying that the cause of her illness was already found out.

It wasn't any sickness, after all. She was pregnant with Kenshin's baby!

The couple was unsure whether to be happy or to be scared, but they didn't let the doctor know of this dilemma. The doctor went home, and the couple was left surrounded by tension, until Momo decided to ask a question and she spoke.

"Battousai-sama, what are you planning to do?"

Or rather, she thought, what are _we _going to do?

Kenshin did not reply at once, not that he was being insolent, but because he was uncertain of their situation as well, and he was thinking intently before giving an answer. He looked at his wife, whom he deemed to young to rear a child, for she was almost like a child on her own, and he thought of himself, too, a young swordsman with no permanent job and cannot even provide food on the table for the two of them, and now they were expecting an addition to their little unexpected family. He thought of the child, though he would probably be a very beautiful child considering his or her (they had no way of determining) mother, he thought of how he or she would grow up, with a mother too young to be called one, who was a geiko who had run away from her profession, and with a father who was almost a mercenary, a young killer feared and talked of throughout Japan. Perhaps inside the house they would be happy, but what would happen the moment they would step outside? He didn't want a miserable family, he didn't want his home to fall apart, and of course, he didn't want to kill his own child for the sake of propriety…

And so, Momo's question, what are you going to do?

Kenshin sighed, shook his head and touched the face of his wife with the tips of his cold fingers, and he gave her a short uncertain smile.

"I know what we're going to do. We're going to raise that child. We're going to be a true family."

Momo smiled, too, for she did not believe herself, but she believed in Battousai-sama. She placed his hand on her belly, a gesture that affirmed her faith in him, that she trusted him more than anymore, and he wouldn't let her, and in this case, their child, down.


End file.
